


Bleed It Out

by Aeacus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Cutting, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Recovery, Self-Harm, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeacus/pseuds/Aeacus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Would you ever write a fic with one of the boys beginning to self harm and the others finding out while having sex?" - Anonymous</p><p>Dave isn't as thick skinned as his brothers and takes the teasing about his genetics a lot harder. He goes and finds relief through other methods until Dirk finds out.</p><p>Dirk/Dave primarily with Bro/Dave near the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed It Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brotherfuckers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckers/gifts).



> So this is a piece for Striderclan. It's a request that doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the AU but it was too interesting of an angle to give up, so I took it on personally. So the setting and characters are the same except for Dave's self esteem and actions and everything diverges from there.
> 
> Warning: Self harm and depression. I modeled Dave's behavior after my own anxiety/depressive moods just taken to the extreme (and I have very different coping methods including writing shit like this). I have very limited psychological knowledge and so I might have gotten a couple things wrong.

Dave could lie to himself and deny that he know when exactly it started. He could lie through his teeth and say it just sorta happened. He could tell anyone with a straight face that he didn’t know what triggered it. But he knows down to the minute when it all fell apart.

* * *

Middle school is hell. It’s a struggle, it’s a war to get through all of the cliques and betrayal of friends while your body is changing and altering and doing shit without express permission. It doesn’t help that Dave started with a bad hand. The pale skin that barely tanned even under the Houston sun, the pale hair that would go bleached bone white because of the same damned sun, and the damning red eyes that startled anyone who managed to see past the shades.

Dirk was lucky. His eyes were just brown enough that they didn’t startle anyone. If they looked close enough they saw the orangeness of them. People called them amber. D had red, but also dark enough that no one called him demon. Plus, who would call him that to the director’s face. Bro had almost romantically gold eyes. Dave was the fuck up of the family.

He knew that a lot of the insults were directed at both Dirk and him, but they just seemed to roll off of Dirk’s back without a problem. He just didn’t care so he didn’t react. Dave tried to copy him, tried not to let the harsh words get to him, tried to borrow his brother’s strength, but he wasn’t that strong. Those barbs stuck into his skin, slipped between his ribs and dug at him until he felt like he was bleeding.

Of course he wasn’t really bleeding. Even when his tormentors caught him alone, away from his twin, they never actually hit him. His flinching at just their words was entertainment enough. He hated them, the names they called him, the way they taunted him, the way they laughed at him. And he hated himself, hated how he reacted, hated how he couldn’t change, hated how much he let them get to him. He’d tried not to. He’d hold back the hate, the pain, the anguish until it would all come flooding out. He’d hide in the shower or sob under the sheets, quietly enough that Dirk couldn’t hear, wouldn’t wake, wouldn’t know how weak Dave was. He couldn’t go to Bro or D either. Not with how put together they were. Not with how they tried to teach Dave to be stronger.

* * *

So the bullying started in middle school the day that someone accidentally bumped into him in the halls and made his shades go skittering across the hall. The day that those guys saw his red eyes. The day they first called him demon.

* * *

That’s not where it stopped though. Middle school was hell and high school wasn’t much better either. The names followed him. And then he was outcasted for being that smart kid, even though it was his brother that broke the curves with Dave trailing a point or two behind. Dirk didn’t care, he only looked up. He looked at the few points he missed and cursed himself at missing them. Dave looked at the huge point difference between their names and the ones right below his despite them being in the advanced classes with the Striders. Dirk just laughed at him when they yelled at the Striders for ruining the curve. He shouted back that they should study more. Dave just shouldered his backpack and dragged Dirk away.

* * *

September 15th of his sophomore year, Dave found an article on the internet about cutting and that people shouldn’t do it and other things one could do instead. He was confused at first. If you were already feeling bad, why would you hurt yourself? He scoffed at the thought. He already got enough pain through the strifes with his guardians. He tucked the thought away.

* * *

September 30th the thought came back. He couldn’t help himself when he plugged queries about into the search bar. He just didn’t understand it. None of the answers were really helpful anyways. He quickly closed the screen when Dirk came back into the room putting the thought away again.

* * *

October 7th he accidentally cut his thumb on one of the dumb swords laying around the apartment. It stung but he wasn’t really paying attention to that. He was more focused on the bead of blood that welled up along the cut. Shiny and red, that ruby that was clearer than his damn eyes. He smeared it across his fingers, feeling the stickiness as it spread too thin. He pressed against the wound to get another drop. Then a third. Then a fourth. The pain of the cut was a constant throb now but physical pain was something he could shoulder.

He startled a little when Bro walked in. He griped about Bro leaving his stupid swords out and Bro just waved him to the first aid kit.

That night he pulled off the bandage but the blood wouldn’t come out.

* * *

October 10th he found the same katana and purposefully swiped his thumb across the edge. It was a deeper cut and there was enough blood to run down to his wrist before he caught the drip he had been staring at. He couldn’t just let it drip on the carpet. His brothers would ask questions. He rushed over to the sink and watched the red liquid swirl down the drain until the water ran clear. He got another bandage from the first aid kit.

He found for once since middle school that he didn’t feel that emotional pain on his heart. Not when he had the physical pain to focus on.

* * *

He didn’t do it often. Not that he could with the limited privacy afforded him while living in a small apartment with three other guys. He had to avoid strife days, though he had the chance to play with the bruises and stiff muscles that showed up afterwards. He had to avoid the nights that Dirk crept into his bed for hot makeout sessions and touching. Especially after their sixteenth when they went all the way. Dave was glad for the darkness and for Dirk’s excitement. Dirk didn’t notice the long white marks on Dave’s hips, thighs, legs even when he was laid out and naked in front of him.

But one hot night while Dirk is tonguing his ear and has two fingers in his ass, Dave almost agrees to have sex during the day. He uses Bro catching them as an excuse and Dirk buys it. But Dave knows he can’t deny him forever.

He stops cutting. He goes out and buys some make up. Palest Ivory. He goes through the self checkout line to avoid the awkward questions and stares. The concealer helps over the color difference of the injuries where Dave had cut himself to play with the ruby blood that coursed beneath the skin, to relish in the sharp pain of the initial slice, to appreciate the continuous throb of the wound even long after he bandaged it up. He made sure to keep the first aid kit well stocked and used his own supplies so no one would question the extra use of bandages.  Dave thought he had all the angles figured out and agreed to let Dirk fuck him while Bro was out in the light of day.

* * *

All of Dave’s tricks worked. Dirk never mentions the small lines the crossed Dave’s skin even when he has Dave bent over his bed and he is slamming his hips against Dave’s ass.

* * *

He doesn’t notice when Dave rides him.

* * *

He doesn’t notice when Dave is folded up under him.

* * *

He doesn’t notice.

* * *

Dave starts up again.

The taunts were bad today. They made fun of Dave’s lack of a girlfriend. He tried to argue that he’s talking with Jade who just happens not to live in America. They yell at him for making an imaginary girlfriend up, for lying to them, for being a piece of shit who can’t even grow the balls to ask a girl out. They lash out verbally and leave Dave broken in the gym locker room. He manages to put himself together for when Dirk comes and finds him. Then Dirk lets him know that he’s off to a robotic’s meeting instead of going home with Dave. Dave arrives to an empty home; D is making movies and Bro is god knows where. The emptiness of the apartment just adds to the weight across Dave’s shoulders. The burden of being such a freak, of hiding what he has with Dirk from their guardians, of having the pressure to do well in school and keep up with his genius brother, of improving his strifing so maybe one day Bro won’t beat his ass into the roof, of becoming rich and/or famous in his own field so that he can stand with the other proud Striders, of having the dark secret of cutting to release this burden.

He rushes to his favorite knife. A simple pocket knife he keeps razor sharp. It’s easier to use than a katana and more practical than a loose razor. He goes to his room shedding his clothes and drags the edge across his skin. Red flows from it, releasing all of the pressure that has built up inside of him. He spreads the blood over his hip, enjoying the hot stickiness of it that smoothes out when he dips his fingers again. The sting helps so he draws another line, slower this time to draw it out, to draw out the pain like venom from a snake bite. He gasps in relief and clutches the red handle to keep from taking a third hit. With more research he found that the pain releases endorphins to counteract the pain which helps keep reality at bay.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, hip as red as the eyes that stare back at him.

He draws a third line.

* * *

The shower erases all of the red that covered his torso and leg from where he had been playing with the blood. The soap stung a little but Dave supposes that’s just another layer to the process. The towel comes away slightly pink, but nothing that won’t come out in the next wash. It’s his turn to do laundry anyways. But no more blood oozes out as he wraps the towel around his waist and returns to his room only to drop it to the floor when he gets to his room to fumble through the laundry for something clean to wear. He freezes when he feels fingers on his hip.

“Got a text from Bro saying he’s going to be out all night. Can we...?” Dirk lets the question trail off as his fingers stroke the soft skin on Dave’s waist. It’s the opposite side of the recent marks. Dave hasn’t had a chance to patch them up and he doesn’t have any of the other ones covered. But Dirk would get suspicious if he said no. Dave would just have to make it fast so Dirk doesn’t notice.

“Sure.”

He is soon pinned up against the nearest flat surface, the dresser, and Dirk’s lips hot on his. Dirk still has his clothes on but Dave makes quick work of them, lifting his shirt up and over his head, fingers working the button of his jeans and shoving his boxers down with them. Dirk touches his chest, focusing on the pink nipples that slowly turn red with his tugging and pinching. The pain mixed with pleasure turns Dave on and despite his nerves he soon has a matching erection to brush up against Dirk’s now freed one.

Then Dirk is pulls Dave towards the bed, pushing him as he turn away to grab the lube. Dave situates himself quickly with this guilty hip away from Dirk, hidden in the bundle of sheets just in time to catch Dirk coming back.

It’s old habit now to get Dave prepped using lubed fingers to stretch him out. He’s writhing and panting and pulling Dirk down into a harsh kiss by the time his body feels ready. Dirk smirks and laughs against Dave’s eagerness. Dave doesn’t let him up so Dirk has to work blindly to line himself to sink into Dave.

As much as they do this, Dave doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how good it feels to have his brother fuck him, that first stretching stroke especially. For a brief moment he doesn’t care how much of a freak it makes him. For a moment he doesn’t care that he’s a red eyed genetic mess gay for his twin brother, letting Dirk fuck him while their guardians are out, cutting himself so he can bandage the pain. He doesn’t care about anything but that wonderful stretched feeling of being filled.

He clutches his brother’s shoulder and begs him for harder, faster, more. Dirk laughs lightly at his neediness, but give him exactly that. Dave’s hips roll up to meet Dirk’s thrusts, rocking the bed lightly. Dirk braces himself with his arms on the mattress as Dave pulls him into kiss after kiss, open mouthed and panting. Their tongues slide against each other hotly. Their moans are mixed and muffled as Dirk slams into his brother.

Dave throws his head back as Dirk hits that spot inside of him that makes pleasure burst behind his eyes like fireworks. Dirk leans back and grips Dave’s hips to thrust harder and faster. Dave gasps as Dirk’s fingers brush over the new lines, the pain flaring up again.

Then Dirk stops. Dave lets out a whine from the back of his throat and tries to roll his hips to encourage his brother to keep moving, but Dirk is completely still.

“Dirk! Please! God, I’m so close. Please fuck me!” Dave begs.

“You’re bleeding.”

Dave’s eyes go wide. He panickedly looks down and sees Dirk holding his hand up with a bit of wet red on his fingers. He tries to fight to get away but Dirk pins him down and rolls him on his side too look at the injury, to look at the clean straight lines that are softly oozing red onto the sheets, reopened by the vigorous movements.

“Dave?” The confusion is heavy in Dirk’s voice.

Dave hits him, a clear punch across the jaw that knocks Dirk back and Dave pulls himself away, curling up at the corner of his bed, hiding his shame.

“Dave!”

He just shakes as panic courses through him. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. No one was supposed to find out. He fights off Dirk’s hands that try to pull him out of the corner.

“Dave! What is going on? Who did that? Who hurt you?”

“Nobody hurt me,” Dave basically growls out around the sobs caught in his throat.

“Then why the fuck are you bleeding?”

Dave always thought that the movies and shows where lying, that one could control that guilty glance towards whatever spot their guilt is hiding. He always thought that he’d never fall for such an easy trick. But his eyes, his head betray him and he glances over at the drawer with the knife with the gut clenching question, did he clean it afterwards?

Dirk catches the telltale glance and leaps for the drawer even as the realization crashes into Dave who launches himself off the bed, but too late as Dirk holds the bloodied knife in hand.

“Dave? What the fuck?” The hurt in Dirk’s voice is worse than any cut Dave has ever given himself, worse than any name the kids at school have yelled at him. He just collapses down on the floor, naked and bleeding and sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Dirk’s frozen, staring between the bloodied knife and his broken brother.

The knife clatters to the ground and Dirk throws his arms around Dave pulling him into a close hug, tucking his head against his shoulder and chest.

“It’s alright, Dave. It’s alright.”

The comforting words just make Dave sob harder.

* * *

Dave keeps his face covered as Dirk cleans up his hip, covering the fresh marks with bandages to keep them from opening up and bleeding again. He lets the pillow absorb his tears and muffle his sobs as Dirk runs his hands over all of the previous marks, exploring all of Dave’s sin.

Hot trails run down Dirk’s cheeks as he takes in his brother’s pain, not understanding the why, not able to understand where it all came from. He silently curses himself for not catching any of the already healed cuts. His hands drift over the hips he clutched in the throes of passion, over the sides that he’s kissed down, over the thighs that he’s stroked when they were straddled over him. All of these scars and he’s never noticed. He’s never noticed the bloody stain on his twin’s heart.

When Dave calms to just shivers of emotions, Dirk dresses him in soft slouchy clothes, moving his limbs when Dave is limp and unresponsive. He gets dressed in similar things and drags his twin out to the futon. He gets Dave a large glass of apple juice but Dave barely sips on it, still in a numb state.

Dirk texts Bro asking when he was going to be home and texts D asking if he’s available for a phone call later. He gets something set up not too late as he stresses its importance to Bro who will be coming home early from his gig. D promises to block out his time for his little brothers.

Dirk sits next to Dave and tries to get him to talk about why, about what is going on, but Dave is incommunicative, withdrawn, and would be crying if he had the tears.

* * *

As soon as Bro shows up, Dirk calls D and puts him on speaker. He hasn’t gotten much more information from Dave but tells them what he knows.

“Dave’s been cutting. And apparently for a while,” Dirk announces.

Bro’s brows furrow down even further.

“What? Why?” D explodes from the phone, making Dave flinch further into the couch.

“Well, we’ve always had some bullying issues because of the shades and eyes and shit. People like to take offense that we are smart as well. But it’s little stuff. And it’s never like they grew the balls to actually hit us. I’ve never let it get to me but apparently Dave-”

“I’m sorry,” Dave finally speaks up. “I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorrysorrysorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry I’m so weak. I’m sorry I’m not strong. I’m not a Strider. I’m not good. I’m worthless and fucked up and broken and wrong and-”

“Stop.” Bro cuts through and makes Dave fall silent with a whimper.

“Dave, why would you say that?” D asks over the phone, his voiced pained with the want, the need to be there in person. “You are our brother.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“You are awesome, Dave. You are amazing. You are creative and smart and good. You have improved your strifing so much. You are about to graduate with honors and got into college with early admission. You’ve already earned more money on stocks than most people do in their lifetime.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Dave shakes his head dismissively. “It’s all worthless.”

“It matters a lot, Dave.”

“Then why do they still call me all that! Every week they come up with a new insult. Every week of school I am told that I nothing! Every fucking week!” he screams into the phone. “If I am so good why do they tell me how bad I suck! Why do they hate me!? Why am I so terrible that they can’t like me? Why am I so terrible that I can’t like me? Why do I hate myself!?” He falls back against the futon as a shocked silence rings out.

“Dave-”

“I don’t need your pity. I’m handling it. I’m a fucking Strider, aren’t I? I have to handle my own shit,” Dave lashes out at Dirk.

“We’re just trying to hel-”

“You can’t help me. You can’t fix something this broken!”

“You’re not-”

“I don’t need this. I’m out of here.” He pushes up off the futon.

“Sit your ass right back down, boy.” Dave freezes in place. “I said, sit down,” Bro growls again. Dave hesitates. He’s shaking but does actually sit back down.

“What can we do to help him?” Dirk asks the guardians.

“We can always get him counseling. And therapy. And watch him closely. And maybe have him take something but I don’t know what they would prescribe because I’m not a doctor but I guess we can always ask or I bet the counselor can tell us. I am sure my insurance has a couple options in Houston. We’ll also need to implement a schedule around the apartment so he’s not alone and put up all the sharp stuff and I can work something out with the school to keep an eye on him too and we’ll get this bullying resolved, all I need there are their names and-”

“Stop, D,” Bro interrupts. “That isn’t helping right now.” He reaches over and pries Dave’s hand off of his forearm where he had been clutching so tightly that there are little crescents of red in the skin underneath. “Calm down, kid. We are trying to help.”

“Just leave me alone. I’ll get better.”

“You’ll just get better? Now that we have called ya out on it? Suddenly ya won’t cut anymore? Ya won’t be picked on anymore? Ya won’t hate yourself anymore? Holy shit, you’re cured!” Bro cheers, making Dave cringe down under the sarcasm.

“Bro,” D warns from the phone.

“I got this. No, Dave, it doesn’t work that way. But it ain’t gonna work D’s way either. We are gonna have to work together in this. Some of the shit D said has to happen. No more sharp stuff around. Not that we don’t or won’t trust you, but to keep ya from temptation. We ain’t gonna fix everything right now, so what else would you,” Bro made sure to catch Dave’s eyes to emphasize that this was his choice, “want to work on first?”

Dave stares back at him trying to control the flood about to break loose. His chin is quivering and he’s blinking back the tears. He clutches back at Bro’s hand. “Coun-” he chokes. “Counseling. Please. Want t-to t-talk t-to someone.”

Bro pulls him in close to let Dave hide the sob against his shirt. Dirk turns off the speakerphone and talks to D in a soft tone while Bro comforted Dave. There were definitely going to be some changes, but what other direction can you go when you hit rock bottom besides up?

* * *

It only took D two days to get in touch with the best psychiatrist in the state and Dave had his first appointment within a week. Dave didn’t return to school in that interim. Dirk brought back all of his assignments so he could work on them at home.  

The day before Dave goes to his meeting he gets a message.

\-- tentacledTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --  
TT: Good evening.  
TG: its still afternoon here  
TT: So it would be. Timezones and all.  
TT: The sun that is attempting to make its way to your cityscape of a horizon has already past that threshold where I live.  
TT: The heavens have turned on their nightlights and the star have begun to sing.  
TT: Not that I can see them past the city lights.  
TT: Nor can I hear them for the city sounds.  
TG: im pretty sure you didnt contact me to talk about pretty lights  
TT: No, I did not. But I thought I would dance around the issue a little.  
TG: not up for a waltz rose  
TG: not up for much  
TT: So I’ve heard.  
TG: guess theres not many secrets in this family  
TT: There are a few that have not been uncovered yet. And a few that shouldn’t be uncovered.  
TT: And you don’t have to spill all of them tomorrow.  
TG: i know that  
TT: But you do have to tell some of them.  
TG: ...  
TT: I actually know the gentleman that you will be speaking to. He is an esteemed colleague. And very good with his patients.  
TT: Very good for his patients.  
TT: You should trust him.  
TG: that  
TG: that actually helps  
TT: You’re welcome.  
TG: i  
TG: im not sure what to say tho  
TG: im not sure if i can say it  
TG: theres a lot to cover  
TT: While I am not officially licensed in any capacity, I do know my way around a session.  
TT: Why don’t you try telling me?  
TT: Use me to get your words, your thoughts in order.  
TT: I swear to maintain silence and to not make any judgments. I won’t even push to make any diagnoses (as if I could in the first place).  
TT: I will simply be a sounding wall, pressing only when I feel like clarification would be prudent.  
TG: huh  
TG: that actually sounds  
TG: good  
TG: good idea  
TG: so  
TG: where should i start  
TT: At the beginning I suppose.  
> TG: well when a mommy and daddy love each other very much they get together in bed and pray for a stork to bring them children one day our mommy prayed a little too hard and got two brats at once even though the family already had three children  
TT: I regret my word choice.  
TT: Why don’t you start where you think the problems began?  
TG: october fifth seventh grade 12:56 pm between lunch and social studies  
TT: Specific. And answered quickly.  
TG: first time someone saw my eyes  
TG: went pretty downhill from there  

They talk for hours until Dave begged for sleep so that he won’t fall asleep in front of his counselor.

TT: Good night, dear brother.  
TT: Please remember we all love you.  
TT: And none of us want you to hurt in any way.  
TG: i kow  
TG: know  
TG: ugh  
TG: sleeps  
TG: ngiht  
TT: I am always available to talk.  
TG: thx  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --

* * *

Dave is actually a lot less nervous than he thought he would be sitting in the waiting room of the therapist. Between Rose’s conversation last night (and small message of good morning and good luck on his phone) and Bro’s strong arm thrown over the back of his chair (and somewhat over his shoulders) Dave actually feels solid enough to go through with it.

Until they call his name at the door.

Then all the anticipation and fear and bad feelings swamp him. He goes from perfectly fine to shaking and sweating in less than a second. Bro doesn’t let him abscond though, clamping a hand over Dave’s shoulder even before Dave can twitch for the door. Bro steers him to the assistant who walks him down the hall to the office.

The building had been very contemporary with soft shapes and soft colors. Like they didn’t want to startle anyone with a sharp edge. Dave felt a strong desire to splash a little color on the walls and across the furniture. And apparently this doctor had that same idea.

The room he steps into is so drastically different from the hallway that Dave has to look over his shoulder to make sure he was in the same universe. The doctor has bright primary and secondary colors clashing in harsh geometric shapes that seem like chaos except Dave follows the lines as they criss cross the room in perfect sense. The chairs, Dave hesitates to call them that even though they are obviously made for sitting, seem like a hybrid of inflatable raft, a beanbag, and a ball of yarn.

“Nice to meet you, Dave Strider.” Dave’s eyes snap to the young man standing by the equivalent of a desk. “I hope I can help you today.”

* * *

Dave doesn’t come away from the visit feeling lighter, more relieved, or even better. But he doesn’t feel any worse. He’s proud of himself for being able to open up about what was going on, even though the doctor didn’t pressure him into anything. Talking with Rose had really helped for he would deliver his story. The doctor just nodded and encouraged him and let Dave wander through his thoughts. After Dave eventually got through the bullshit fluff that encompasses his normal line of thinking, he started telling him about the bullying. His narrative was still chock full of bullshit but the doctor could follow it. Dave carefully avoided the intimate relationship between him and Dirk but did reveal a bit about how the Strider family functions.

He startled himself out of his rambling when his internal clock let him know that they were out of time. When he mentioned that, the doctor was surprised at his accuracy but offered to let him continue but Dave declined, his concentration broken.

They set up the next meeting with a promise from the doctor to give his feedback on the first half of the story at the beginning, but Dave felt good about the attention the doctor had given him. Despite all of Dave’s rambling and the doctor’s note taking, Dave felt the doctor was honestly interested in him. Dave forces himself not to dwell on it too much, aware that if he does, then Dave could convince himself that the doctor is lying and doing it just because it’s his job and not that he is truly interested and why would anyone be interested in Dave and-

The door of the car startles him and he finds himself sitting in the apartment parking lot. Bro waits for him to get out and they climb the stairs together. Bro pauses just outside of the apartment.

“Ya doin’ fine?” Bro asks somehow softly and gruffly at the same time.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good.” Bro shuffles at bit, slowly unlocking the door. “Ya know that I’m proud of ya, right?”

Dave’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes burn as he tries to hold back the flood of emotions that have been welling up since the therapist. Bro roughly pulls him into a tight hug, pressing Dave’s face into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Dave. I’ve been pretty terrible, haven’t I? Ya should’ve smacked me earlier. Never wanted hurt you. Love you, Dave. Really proud of you. So glad you’re still here.”

Dave’s sobs are muffled by the white polo but Bro doesn’t let him go. He just rubs Dave’s back until Dave calms down again.

“You doing fine?” Bro asks again. Dave just nods. “Ya want some dorito pizza? And I’m not sayin’ doritos and pizza, I’m talkin’ about puttin’ those fuckers directly on the pizza, under the cheesy, greasy goodness even. Let those orange triangles soak up that nastiness and become gems of glory. It’ll be fantastic.”

“That sounds gross,” Dave manages to get out.

“Lies. It sounds fantastic. You sound gross,” Bro teases lightly, shoving Dave’s shoulder away and taking a surreptitious glance at Dave’s face. He decides that his little brother looks fine and drags him into the apartment for the food experiment.

* * *

After a couple more appointments that follow the same model at the first, Dave walks out with a small piece of paper clutched in his hand. He manages to squeak out to Bro a demand to go to the closest drug store. Dave forces Bro to stay in the car. Bro patiently waits the first thirty minutes but sends a threatening text which has Dave scurrying back into the car with a small white paper bag only five minutes later. The only comment Bro makes towards the new package is asking whether he can eat tonight’s menu of spicy wings with them. Dave nods and Bro drops the topic.

* * *

The pills aren’t really helping. Dave notices the changes but he doesn’t quite like them. The doctor told him to give them some time and if they still don’t work, he’ll tweak them. They’ve already gone through three variants but it just variations of the same.

Each do successfully stifle the anxiety Dave feels. He’s no longer as anxious about himself and the world around him. But that leaves the depression. He still hasn’t found his worth. He still doesn’t know why he gets up in the morning. He doesn’t know why it’s worth it to try anything because he knows he’ll fail at it or if he somehow doesn’t miraculously fail then he’s still not making any progress to become better.

And when the pills start to tackle that darkness in him, he’s left with an emptiness. Just removing those bad thoughts and truthful whispers in the back of his head doesn’t fix him immediately. He doesn’t have anything to replace them. There’s just nothing. He feels robotic as the anxiety is deadened and the depression shallowed. He feels like he’s sitting on a flat plane with nothing around him now that the landscape has been leveled and he can’t seem to care.

He knows it’s not right. He knows it’s not good. But he doesn’t care. He tells his therapist that the latest recipe is fine. He takes his meds dutifully, hiding the fact that he knows Dirk checks the count every day. He ignores any urges to hurt himself despite the knowledge that it would make him feel something. He wants to feel something.

Dirk hasn’t touched him since he found out besides the glancing brush. But no more hidden kisses or soft caresses. No shared showers while the older brothers are gone, and not just because they aren’t as often. Dirk doesn’t crawl into Dave’s bed when he finally exhausts himself over a program or robot like he used to. Dave finds Dirk glancing over at him more often but never touching. Dave misses it but he won’t initiate it.

D is home more often. Dave is sure that he blames his absence for some of Dave’s problems. Dave doesn’t believe that, but he knows D sure isn’t helping now. The way he catches D looking at him with pity, the way D tiptoes around him, the way D avoids strifing with him but still strifes with the other two, the way D tries to encourage him and tell him everything is going to be okay, the way D treats him differently. Dave hates it.

Except for that moment at the front door, Bro hasn’t changed. The strifes don’t involve swords but Bro doesn’t pull his punches. He teases Dave and shoves him around the apartment. He doesn’t comment when Dave curls up next to him on to couch. Instead he just grabs the second controller and beats his ass at the game on the screen if he’s playing or makes Dave hold scraps as he works on the latest puppet. Dave appreciates that.

But Bro isn’t around all the time and Dave is left with the other two. So he finds ways to escape without going anywhere. He throws himself into his comics and music, but rarely creates anything that doesn’t look even more terrible than normal or flatter than usual.

When he first went running, Dirk scrambled to follow him and together in silence they pounded down the sidewalks. Dave ignored him and focused only on the jarring sensation between heel and concrete, the smog burning his lungs, the strain on his muscles until Dirk pulled him to a stop before he actually hurt himself. Dave wanted to hit Dirk so that he could keep running but instead he meekly walked next to his twin as they went home. Almost every run was the same after that.

* * *

Dave figures out that they believed he was really getting better when Bro throws the car keys at him before one of his appointments.

Dirk only counts his pills once a week now.

D goes out to Hollywood for another big filming.

Dave takes a deep breath and continues to pretend to live.

* * *

Finals were a couple weeks behind them and final grades out when Bro tosses the sword in Dave’s direction. The instincts snap to life as Dave catches it even before the realization hits. He scrambles up after Bro who flashsteps away.

The late Houston sun streaks the sky with red clouds and makes Bro’s silhouette even more imposing. Dave’s hands are shaking with excitement and nerves. He hadn’t used a sword in months. He’s worried about embarrassing himself.

But when Bro dashes forward, the long years of training are easy to fall into. Yes some of his moves are rusty, but the running and activity that Dave has used to counter his numbness show up. Small smiles creep onto both of their faces as they dance across the rooftop.

Dave knows Bro is avoiding the cutting blows, not drawing blood to end the strife, but Bro also doesn’t hold back with the blunt side of his blade. Dave relishes each hit and he knows he shouldn’t but he _feels_ each. He _feels_ the sting of each blow. He _feels_ the burn in his muscles. He _feels_.

Bro makes him surrender despite trying to stand up again when the sun dips below the horizon. Bro ‘punishes’ him with doing the dishes and then immediately orders a pizza to be served on paper plates on his phone.

Bro lets Dave have the first shower. The hot water quickly washes away the salty as Dave enjoys how normal everything is again.

* * *

So normal in fact, that he feels like he doesn’t need the drugs.

He doesn’t tell anyone when he skips the day. And at the end of the week, Dirk doesn’t say anything to him. Dave skips another one. On the good easy days he goes without the chemicals. And he’s fine. The anxiety is bearable. The depression not as low. Bro continues to strife with him. Everything is normal.

And it stays normal when he skips it for a full week.

And then several weeks.

And then he doesn’t even think about taking anymore.

* * *

If he doesn’t need the medication then he doesn’t need the appointments.

The first time he skipped he still left at the usual time but just drove around the city instead of going to the office.

No one said anything when he came back.

He hides his guilt by turning these blocks of time into photography trips.

He tells himself he’s still okay.

* * *

“Bro? Are you still awake?”

“What’s up, D?” Bro answers blearily, not even trying to find his brother’s face in the darkness.

“Dave’s been- The doctor called. And it’s been like a month and a half. He- Dave hasn’t been going to his appointments.”

“Huh.” Then Bro lets the silence fill the space.

“So,” D finally breaks it. “What are we going to do?”

“Lemme handle it.”

* * *

Dave comes back from yet another unsuccessful photography trip. He can’t seem to catch any angles that he wants. He’s not even getting Hallmark quality. It’s less than bored tourist no matter how many times he clicks the shutter. He hadn’t thrown his camera at the nearest wall, but it was close.

As soon as the door closes behind him he hears, “So, how was it?”

“Huh? Oh. It was fine.”

“What d’ya talk about?”

“Cafeteria food. And how terrible it is and how un-nutritious it is and how we should demand better and how it makes me want to cry.”

“How about how it makes ya lie?” Bro asks smoothly making Dave stop in his tracks as his blood goes cold. “Roof. Now.” Bro flashes past him with a puff of air.

‘Now’ is fifteen minutes later after Dave remembered how to breathe and figured out how to pick up his sword with shaking hands, this time out of fear and anxiety. The sword is almost instantly knocked out of his hand as Bro gives him no quarter. Each hit is controlled and precise but joyless. Dave can feel Bro’s tightly wrapped feelings as the steel buzzes in his hands. Anger isn’t the correct term, but it felt like almost tangible disappointment. It hurts more than the hits themselves.

Dave feels his own ball of emotion curling and twisting inside his guts. It affects his footwork, it weakens his arms, he dulls his swords, it blinds his eyes with a watery blur. He panics as a hot tear runs down his cheek.

“Fuck!” He blocks the next attack with one arm and tries to brush the rogue tear away with the other. The compromises him for Bro’s follow up and Dave goes stumbling on his ass. The sword clatters loudly. There is a beat of silence after the sharp metallic sound. Then Dave curls up on himself to try to muffle the sob the wrenches itself out of his throat.

“Dave.”

“I-I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry! F-fuck.”

“Dave.”

“I’ll- I’ll do better. I pr-promise. I swear. God, I swear. I-I’ve fucked up!”

“What the fuck, Dave?”

“I’m sorry. God fucking hell. I thought I was okay. I thought- Shit. I’m fucked up. My head’s fucked up. I can’t even do this. I can’t even fix myself. I can’t even go to some fucking meeting. I can’t even take some fucking pills without fucking up. I thought I was getting better but I’m not going anywhere and I’m letting you all down because I’m worthless and useless and so fucked up. I’m sorry, Bro. Fucking sorry.”

Bro kneels next to his quivering brother, unsure of he should reach out or what so he just awkwardly hovered after setting his sword down. “Have you-”

“No! I-I haven’t cut. Haven’t started that again. Too afraid to. But god, I’ve wanted to. I want to feel again because I don’t feel. I don’t feel right. I’m sorry. I’m so-” Dave’s sobs cut him off and Bro gives in, reaching out to pull him in to stop the shuddering.

“It’s okay, li’l man. It’s okay. I know it looks bad, but you just slipped. You were doing well. I swear you were. And you can do good again. It’s okay to screw up sometimes. You just have to come to us when it get bad. Before it gets this bad. You have to keep us in the loop. You have to talk to us too, Dave. We want to help you. Let us fucking help you, Dave.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” Bro tightens his arms around Dave’s shoulders. “Goddamn it, Dave, what am I supposed to do with a crying kid? I’m not good at this shit. Tell me what to do to help. Tell me what will help.”

“I can’t do the pills again. I feel dead with them. I don’t want to be dead. I wanna feel.”

“Okay. Except on the bad days. Think about taking them on the bad days. But yeah, for good days, no pills.”

“And I wanna talk to you. No more doctor. No more brain talk. Wanna talk to you.”

“Where have you been going instead?”

“Everywhere. Been pretending to be a photographer.”

“Can I come? We can talk. You can tell me how to be a photographer. You can tell me about your stocks. You can tell me what’s been going on at school. You can tell me what’s been going on at home. You can tell me about you and Dirk.” Bro feels Dave jerk away from him but doesn’t let up at all. “You can tell me anything.”

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay, Dave. It’s okay. I want to help.”

“I know. I know.” Dave relaxes back down. “And strifes. Don’t stop the strifes. They keep me sane. Keep me from cut-”

“I promise,” Bro quickly says. “God I promise. As long as you promise. Promise me you won’t cut. Promise me you’ll come to me before you do.”

“I promise.”

“That’s the biggest promise. If that happens, we start all over.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good. I love you, Dave.”

“Love you too, Bro.”

* * *

For the next three months it seems to work. Bro and Dave get close. Dave tells Bro everything about his life, including the illicit relationship with his twin. Bro got Dirk to interact with Dave like normal again. Everything feels like normal.

Until Bro walks in and finds Dave on the kitchen floor, tightly holding and staring at his cell phone. The shaking curl of his body reminds Bro of his rooftop breakdown. Bro gently sets his stuff down and approaches like he would a wild animal.

“‘sup, li’l bro,” he starts softly.

It takes a moment for Dave to respond. Bro wonders where his mind was. “I need you to schedule another appointment for me,” he finally explains as he looks up. Bro meets his sad cherry eyes and his heart twists at the depth he finds. It’s a bad day but Bro doubts Dave took anything for it. The moment lingers until Dave looks away, breaking the eye contact in shame. “I can’t do it myself.”

“Are you okay, li’l dude?”

Dave just shakes his head and fights back the tears. He thrusts the phone up to his brother. Bro takes it and finds the office’s number already on the screen. Right there in front of Dave, he makes the appointment for the next day. The phone is tucked away as soon as Bro hangs up. Apple juice comes out, several bottles worth and set by the futon before Bro scoops Dave up into his arms and carries him over as well. Bro makes the decision to keep him in his lap based on how hard Dave is clinging to him.

They sit quietly for a long time, Bro just rubbing his back and upper arms to keep up the contact. The tightness in Dave’s chest finally releases and Bro can feel him breathe a bit easier. Dave tucks his head into the crook of Bro’s neck.

“I haven’t. I didn’t. But I wanted to. All I could think about for the past week. I almost did today. And you weren’t home and don’t you dare say sorry. You have your own life and you can’t watch me twenty-four seven. And I waited. I didn’t. I didn’t.”

“Proud of ya. So damn proud of you.”

Dave whimpers at the praise, still unused to it even though Bro has been much better about it. He tucks his head tighter against Bro. His lips brush against Bro’s rough skin briefly before he pulls away sharply after realizing what he did. Bro catches him and holds him on his lap. Dave clenches his eyes shut and tries to curl up even smaller but Bro stops him with a gentle hand on the edge of his chin. Dave’s heart stops completely as Bro tilts their heads together and kisses him lightly on the lips. Dave relaxes against him and returns it. When Bro breaks away, Dave tries to breathe through a sob.

“It’s okay, Dave. We got you.”

* * *

Bro has just snatched up his phone to call Dave to track him down to force him to go to his appointment when it rings in his hand.

“Hello?”

“Is this Derrick Strider?”

“This is he.”

“You scheduled Dave’s appointment correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did you inform him of the correct time?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have him there in thirty minutes.”

“No- I’m sorry, I’ve given the wrong impression. He’s already here.”

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to make sure we didn’t mix up the times on our ends.”

“Nah, we’re good. He’s- He’s good. Thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day!”

* * *

“Hey.”

“‘sup.”

“So, Dave...” Bro starts and then trails off, unsure of what he should tell D, especially over the phone.

“He’ll be okay.”

“I know. I know that. He’s a Strider. I’m- I’m just glad he came to me. He let me help him.”

“Of course he did. You’re his big brother. You’re there for him. It’s definitely a good thing. It means he doesn’t feel as alone as he did back then. He’s better than he was even if he doesn’t think it is.”

“Yeah. I know. We’ll beat this thing. We’ll beat it together.”

**Author's Note:**

> This can be found on my tumblr, aeacustero.tumblr.com, and also linked on Striderclan.tumblr.com. For more information about the Striderclan AU please visit brotherfuckers on AO3 or the tumblr. The tumblr has headcanons, art, and asks in addition to the stories.


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